The rain pattered down, beating a tattoo into the roof of the workshop. It was a sharp contrast to the death-like silence below.
The workers were gathered at the back. The shock and fear on their faces was unhidden, but everyone's hands had subconsciously began to reach for shovels and wooden boards. No one knew what was going to happen next.
Standing at the front, the treasurers who had organized the strike also had faces full of fear. They watched the imperial envoy sitting on a chair before the door and did not pay any more attention to the dead master Xiao. No one dared look at the tragic scene of the separated body and head beside the furnace. They only stared in fear at Fan Xian's warm and gentle face. The feet of the crowds unconsciously backed up.
